On the table land,
In the crumble of beautiful
Forgotten splendour-
In the midst of decaying walls,
And door skeletons-
Holding a ghost of an era
Here, even the winds
Blow nostalgia in their breaths,
A sigh of something amiss,
And souls that wander
Feel a melancholy-
An unanswerable emptiness,
For the ghost of former beauty
Cry out in pain against
The looting sorcerers of today
Who dig graves for the living,
And bury the past in square boxes
Of malls and office complexes
Muffling the beauty and dialogues
Of history and secret wisdom
In speeches filled with words
‘Development’ and ‘technology’
Non-inclusive of the past or the future
and so the earth and the winds moan
And whisper of ancient tales and secrets.

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